


you're so dark

by handcuffedhale (fizzingweaselbee)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Bottom Dean, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:42:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1577228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingweaselbee/pseuds/handcuffedhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was the first time he’d been to Purgatory; the strip club had opened a little under a month ago, but back then Dean had been too busy working on the Hellhound case.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	you're so dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paisleycats](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paisleycats/gifts).



> This was written for [AJ](http://bitchjerk.co.vu/) for her birthday, because destiel is one of her (many) OTPs.
> 
> So, my dear friend, I hope you enjoy this, and that my comma use is correct throughout.
> 
> ~
> 
> Title from [the Arctic Monkeys song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6eoAwXkI3RA), supplied by [Sennen](http://jessmarianno.tumblr.com/) (thank you).
> 
> This was beta-ed by [Jade](http://croatoaan.tumblr.com/), so credit where credit's due.

Dean knocked back the purple drink without asking what the bartender had put in it, holding the glass out in surprise and making a mental note to ask what it was called.

It was the first time he’d been to _Purgatory_ ; the strip club had opened a little under a month ago, but back then Dean had been too busy working on the Hellhound case. Now, though, it was all over, and Dean couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt over the death of Lilith, a seemingly innocent woman who had just racked up her seventh kill – this time a child, and Dean was good with gore but that had him swallowing a gag.

So he’d taken it upon himself to check out _Purgatory_ , and so far he’d just been watching the men and women dance, their features blurred by the lighting.

“Now, folks, give our oldest member a big hand,” a voice boomed over the crowd, and Dean wondered how a voice over added to the atmosphere. He snorted, but nonetheless watched a man dressed in a tan trench coat and black briefs walk out, his muscles rippling as he started to move his hips.

He barely danced for five minutes, and people wolf whistled when he climbed down, battling his way to the bar.

“My usual,” the man asked, voice deeper than Dean expected.

Dean finished his drink, signalling for another. “Add his to my tab,” he said, and the man tilted his head to the side before a small smile played on his lips, eyes bluer than Dean thought possible.

“I get my drinks free, I work here,” he stated, and Dean shrugged, eyeing the amber coloured liquor in the man’s glass. “I am Angel,” he said, pausing slightly before the name.

Dean laughed. “As in Buffy?” he asked, and ‘Angel’ frowned.

“I don’t understand that reference,” he replied, and Dean raised his eyebrows, taking a sip of his drink to form his next sentence. He was saved the trouble when Angel asked, “would you like a private dance, as you couldn’t pay for my drink?”

“Sure. I’m Dean,” Dean replied, and Angel took the proffered twenty, tucking it into his underwear and taking hold of Dean’s hand, leading him across the room and out of the door.

A minute later and they were in a dimly-lit room with dark red walls; Angel pushed on Dean’s shoulder to get him to sit down, and he hung his trench coat on a hook by the door.

It started off simply enough; Dean’s fingers were twisted in his lap when Angel ran his hands over his body, mouth slightly open into a smile. He walked purposefully towards Dean, hand sliding over the now-blushing man’s shoulders as he circled the chair, stopping directly in front of him. He languidly ran his hands over his body, stopping to tweak a nipple before leaning forward, placing a hand on each of Dean’s legs. Angel stared at him as he moved his hands up Dean’s thighs, rubbing circles with his thumbs when Dean tensed up. Angel stopped once he was at Dean’s hips, slowly moving forward until he was almost straddling him. Angel pressed his hands onto Dean’s shoulders and began moving his hips, the barely there friction making Dean hiss.

Angel leant forward. “Having fun?” He murmured, lips brushing against the shell of Dean’s ear before he leant back, pressing a little more weight onto Dean’s lap as he bent backwards. Dean marvelled at his flexibility, but moved to put his hands on Angel’s waist to anchor him, half out of concern for his safety and half because of the burning need to touch him.

The other man slapped his hands away. “No touching, no matter how well intended.” He ordered, placing his hands over Dean’s on the sides of the chair. Angel’s weight was entirely on Dean, and the friction was delicious, drawing a low moan from him against his will. “You like that?” Angel repeated the movement, this time drawing a growl as Dean bucked his hips, and Angel dug his blunt nails into Dean’s hands, shaking his head in admonishment. “I’m in control.” Angel said with a smile, and as if to prove it he stood, releasing Dean’s hands and leaving the man feeling strangely cold. “You can touch yourself if you want,” Angel suggested, turning and dropping to all fours, rolling his hips and panting, a noise that made Dean’s cock twitch.

The sound of a zipper filled the room, followed by a deep moan ripped from Dean’s throat. Angel turned his head to look at Dean, eyes flicking to where his hand was wrapped around his cock when Angel rolled his hips again. Angel palmed himself through the material of his briefs, turning over to lay on the floor, back arched as he began to thrust into the air. Dean knew he was close, could feel it building, and Angel must have known too because he crawled towards the chair, sitting back on his heels and grabbing Dean’s free hand, eyes locked on Dean’s as he sucked on his finger, scraping his teeth over the pad of Dean’s thumb.

Dean moaned, coming undone as his hips lifted off of the chair. When he opened his eyes, Angel was holding a towel out to him which he took, smiling widely. “You sure know how to make a guy forget his problems,” he commented, staring down at the cum spattered on his shirt before sighing and pulling it over his head.

Angel eyes his protection tattoo with interest. “It’s my job,” he replied quietly. “If you wait, I can get you a new shirt?”

Dean nodded, suddenly aware that his cock was still exposed, tucking it back inside his boxers and zipping up his jeans; he laughed to himself at how stereotypical the room was. He was standing when Angel returned empty-handed. “No luck? Couldn’t wait outside a room until a shirt was thrown out in wild abandon?” Dean asked, and Angel tilted his head to the side.

“No, I looked into the dressing rooms, but there wasn’t anything that would fit.” He paused, eyes evaluating. “My apartment is on the corner of the road, and my shift was very short, so if you would like you can get a shirt there?”

Dean swallowed, and Angel narrowed his eyes. “Uh, sure, yeah, that’d be great. Are you gonna put some clothes on, or?”

“It is a little cold for just this, and it’s indecent.” Dean’s eyes widened at Angel’s response, and he found himself smiling at how literal the stripper was.

He hid his laugh behind a cough. “Yeah, definitely, wouldn’t want you catching a cold or something.”

Angel nodded, walking out of the room, holding the door open until Dean followed, through the club and up a hidden staircase, until they reached the dressing rooms. Dean sat in a chair, spinning it around as Angel got changed, and when his chair jerked to a stop, Dean shook his head to right the room, a smirk tugging at his lips. “The trench coat is a permanent thing, then?”

**

Dean shut the door behind him, and the lights stuttered on revealing a bare, two-roomed apartment. The walk over had been silent, with Dean crossing his arms over his chest, winking at a group of girls who stared for too long, a ripple of laughter moving through them as they threw looks over their shoulders at him. Despite the attention, it was the man walking in front of him who held his interest, and Dean half-wished that Angel would lose the trench coat just so Dean could stare at his ass in jeans.

“This way,” Angel said, walking around the sofa and through to what was obviously the bedroom. Dean lingered in the doorway, watching as Angel dropped his coat onto his bed, bending to rummage in the set of drawers. 

He turned, walking over and standing closer to Dean than was necessary, eyes piercing as he extended the dark grey t-shirt. “Here you go.” His eyes were on Dean’s tattoo, and Dean took the shirt, fingers lingering on Angel’s wrist.

“It’s a pentagram. People think they’re for summoning the devil, but really they’re for protection. Me and my brother got them before he went to law school.” Dean’s mouth snapped shut, staring suspiciously at Angel because he hardly shared that information with anyone.

Angel nodded, eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I know, I studied theology.” Dean’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but before he could reply, Angel pressed his lips to Dean’s, brushing them lightly over his open mouth before he pulled back.

There was a pause, and then Dean ducked his head to kiss Angel, one hand cradling his face, fingers splayed; the other he used to pull the shorter man closer to him, and Angel angled his head to deepen the kiss.

When they broke apart, Dean was breathing heavily, and the eye contact they shared felt too emotional for the facts. “So, I gotta call you Angel while we do this?” Dean asked, moving his hands to Angel’s waist.

“Castiel,” he replied, and Dean smirked before Castiel kissed him again, hands moving to tug on Dean’s hair, drawing a moan from him. He spun them around, pushing Dean onto the bed, and Dean let out a noise of surprise that was muffled by Castiel kissing him again; Dean tugged on Castiel’s bottom lip, opening his lips to let Castiel lick into his mouth. Dean ground upwards, his jeans tight as Castiel responded in kind, angling his head so as to place bruising kisses on Dean’s neck. 

“Off, off, too many clothes.” Dean pushed at Castiel’s shirt until he leant back, taking it off, and Dean took the opportunity to unbutton Castiel’s trousers, pushing them low on the other man’s hips until he could comfortably push a hand under the waistline of his briefs, pulling Castiel’s cock out.

Dean leant up, curling himself to flick his tongue over the head of it, and Castiel moaned before pushing Dean back down, keeping a hand on his shoulder to hold him in place as he unzipped Dean’s jeans, hooking his fingers under Dean’s waistband and pulling them down, boxers coming down too, and Dean’s cock slapped against his stomach, already leaking precum.

“Don’t move,” Castiel ordered, and Dean twisted his hands into the sheets when Castiel licked a stripe along the vein running along the underside of his cock, panting when Castiel stared up at him, blue eyes wide as he took Dean into his mouth, swirling his tongue just under the head and humming when Dean choked back a moan.

Dean let his head fall back, panting. “Lube?” he asked, and Castiel pulled off of his cock with an obscene pop.

“Top drawer,” he replied, and Dean twisted to open it, a stuttered groan falling from his lips when Castiel pulled apart his ass cheeks, breath ghosting over his hole.

“Fuck, Cas.” Dean handed Cas the lube, rolling onto his hands and knees, turning his head to watch as Cas warmed the lube in his hands. Dean’s eyes fluttered shut when Cas pushed in the first finger, and Dean breathed deeply, relaxing around the intrusion; it had been a long time since he’d had anyone’s fingers but his own inside of him, and Cas seemed to know it because he spent more time working the finger in and out of him before adding a second, gently scissoring them as Dean gasped.

The third finger was more painful, and Dean bit down on his lip, hanging his head. He jolted when Cas’ tongue joined his fingers, and he collapsed onto his forearms when Cas crooked his fingers, pushing straight against Dean’s prostate.

“That feel good?” Cas asked, repeating the motion, and Dean nodded. “Are you ready?”

The candidness with which Cas asked turned Dean on more than he thought it would, and he nodded. “Fuck, yes.” The fingers were pulled out, leaving Dean feeling empty.

The sound of a condom wrapper ripping filled the silent room, and Dean ached to touch himself. He felt the blunt head of Cas’ cock pushing against him, and he turned his head to watch as Cas entered him slowly, inch by aching inch, until he was entirely inside of Dean. Dean’s breathing was laboured, and Cas’ hips remained still; he peppered kisses along Dean’s spine as the man adjusted, and as soon as Dean felt comfortable he pushed back, the slight burn making him moan as Cas began pushing into him, slowly at first, but when Dean thrust back onto him roughly, Cas moved his hands to Dean’s hips to ground himself, hips snapping at a faster pace.

Cas’ arm wrapped around Dean’s waist, and he pulled him back so that Dean was straddling him, back flush against Cas’ front. The changed angle meant that Cas hit Dean’s prostate every other thrust, and he wrapped his free hand around Dean’s cock, pumping in time with his thrusts.

“Fucking, fuck, Cas,” Dean moaned, head falling back against the other man’s shoulder. “I’ gonna…” Cas snapped his hips harder, the edge of pain sending Dean over the edge, and he came over Cas’ hand and the bed in long stripes, going boneless against Cas.

Cas continued thrusting up into him, the overstimulation making Dean mewl, and Dean felt Cas’ hand tighten on his hip before he came with a groan, sinking his teeth into Dean’s shoulder.

Cas pulled out, and Dean collapsed, pulling a face at the feeling of the cooling cum against his stomach. He wondered if he’d have to leave, because his legs hadn’t regained the feeling, and he didn’t fancy getting a cab home when his brain felt like cotton candy.

“You don’t have to leave,” Cas stated, and Dean realised he must’ve been thinking out loud. Cas lay down beside Dean, resting his hand on Dean’s waist, and they fell asleep like that.

**

Dean rubbed his eyes, the muffled sound of his ringtone waking him up, and he reached over to his nightstand, surprised when, instead of grabbing his phone, he grabbed a handful of hair. He sat up, last night flooding back to him, and he stared down at Castiel, who looked much younger as he slept, eyebrows still furrowed in a small frown.

Dean rolled off of the bed, grimacing at the dried cum on his stomach, before he located his phone in the pocket of his jeans.

“’lo?” he murmured.

By the time his phone call with Bobby ended, Cas was waking up, and he stared at Dean, who had put his jeans and boxers back on and was resting against he set of drawers. “Good morning,” he said, sitting up and stretching. “I thought you would have left.”

“Yeah, I, uh, obviously I didn’t,” Dean replied, shifting his weight.

Cas frowned, standing up, the covers falling away. “Are you hurt?”

“Just sore, don’t worry about it.” Dean smiled quickly at his concern. “I should probably go, I’m guessing you have stuff to do, and I gotta go home and change before I meet up with my brother, so,” he paused. “Can I use your bathroom?”

Cas nodded, and Dean smiled again in thanks, dropping his phone on top of his shoes as he went, cleaning the mess on his stomach with a wad of damp tissues before splashing water on his face.

“Isn’t there a rule about this kind of thing?” he asked as he walked back into the bedroom, Castiel thankfully now half-dressed.

The shorted man tilted his head. “Sex?”

“Sex with a client,” Dean clarified.

Cas nodded, chewing on his lip. “Yes, probably, although that’s only in the club.”

“So, why would you break it? Couldn’t you lose your job?” Dean asked, curiosity getting the better of him, as always.

Castiel fixed him with a piercing stare. “Because you have very nice eyes, and you looked sad.”

Something knotted in Dean’s gut, and he remembered why it was so much easier to bail in the morning, because this kind of talk always lead to disappointment. “Oh, right, awesome. A one-time pity thing, okay, thanks, bye.” He ignored Cas’ confused head-tilt, grabbing his phone, shirt and shoes, saluting Cas before walking out.

It was only once he got home that he realised he’d put on Cas’ shirt, and he sighed, interrupted from his musings by his phone vibrating.

_**From: Unknown** _  
_[I’m sorry; I took your cell number. I wanted to let you know it wasn’t out of pity. – Castiel] ___

Dean stared at his phone in shock for a minute before replying.

_**To: Cas** _  
_[That’s okay. I have your shirt, should I bring it back to the club?]_

There was a minute of silence. 

_**From: Cas** _  
_[I’m free tomorrow lunch time, there’s a good diner near my work. You can return it then. – Castiel]_

Dean blinked, re-reading the text. 

_**To: Cas** _  
_[Like a date?]_

_**From: Cas** _  
_[Yes. They have excellent pie. – Castiel]_

Dean grinned. 

_**To: Cas** _  
_[Sold. See you then, angel]_


End file.
